


(un)romantic

by serendipitys



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Song fic, idk what waylon is he's still waylon, kindaaa i got lazy i wrote this at like 3 am my dudes, modern!AU, no dialogue it's pure prose, or smth like that, tourist!eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 15:38:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10337960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitys/pseuds/serendipitys
Summary: in which , as if in a venn diagram , the only similarity is undeniable love





	1. a love story from paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi so hehe  
> this fic was entirely based off dodie and jon cozart's _a love song from paris / a non love song from nashville_
> 
> aka my WAY of distracting myself once again 2 do stuff im not suppose to do whoopsies  
> or just wanting 2 make a weddie fic  
> i swear im maknig a fully chaptered one
> 
> i didnt edit this also lol i will soon tho but now im lazy

Eddie loved him.

Even that alone was an understatement.

There was something about him , really. He'd knew from the very start. 

The moment he walks in his small shop of his , he could already tell there was something very special about this boy. Even when he wasn't presentable ( panting. Gasping , coughing constantly. Hair and fluffy , lotus pink sweater drenched in the rain's cold tears. Not exactly a  _love at first sight_ scene for two entities. ) at the very moment , his candle of a heart was lit by the match of his existence. 

The shop was about to close. It was nine thirty-seven after all , his curfew : time to close. But he let him walk in and shut the door close abruptly , let his soaking wet feet leave puddles of water on his wooden floors. Didn't even let him explain on why he needed to stay because  _God_ was he desperate to find somewhere to stay in to avoid the unforgiving rain. He tells him it's okay , tells him he can stay.

God. He really did love him.

That was a lie.

He really was  _in_ love with him.

It's a cheesy statement , a love story for saps : how he falls for this man on first sight. But somehow ,  _somehow_ , more matches has submerged from this boy to enrage an inferno to burn within the older man. He loved it. He loved the way he softly says  _thank you_ , with a flustered face and a pale blush running over his softly tanned skin. He loved the little freckles that were scattered all over his face and collarbones. Looks like pixie dust blown over to his skin , or stars that have lost their homes and tattooed themselves on his sheath. He loved those greenish-blue eyes that reminded him of emeralds and sapphires. He loved the velvet , silly snores that emit from his lips when he let him sleep on his bed ( he didn't sleep beside him. He just met this man. He slept on the couch , which was a  _hassle_ but it's not like he mind. As long as he was comfortable.  _God_ was he cheesy. )

He was such a hopeless romantic.

That's why he'll write about how much he loved his silly little laughs when he arises a flirtatious joke. He thinks it's hideous , akin to hyenas or something absurd , but he denies it anyway. Think it's the contrary. He hated how clumsy he was , how annoyingly  _forgetful_ and misplaced a twenty-eight year old man can be. Hated mostly everything about him , and hated that his insecurities often ate him out alive. But he thinks it's still the contrary. Thinks he's still beautiful in every little way , wants to drive away that insecurity that's swallowing him whole.

It's inevitable that he won't be able to avoid cliche.

So , he invites him to Paris. City of love.

Imagines how they can waltz underneath the canopy of trees whilst being underneath dancing city lights. Dance underneath a city of stars.

Imagines how they can intertwine their bodies at twelve midnight. Be in each other's warmth , strong arms holding soft chest , and two pairs of eyes gazing at the Eiffel Tower seen from their window.

Imagines how they can fall in love so slowly. So sweetly. So beautifully in the city of love.

_Imagines._

He said no.


	2. a non-love story from stockholm.

  
Waylon couldn’t love him.

That was a painful , agonizing truth he had to endure

But he knew there was something about him. He wish that he’d already know from the very start.

The moment he walks in that small shop of his , he was too oblivious and dense and perhaps __cold__ to tell that there was going to be something very special about this boy. He was far from presentable , __yes__ , from the uneven hitching of his breath mixed with constant coughs. His honey-brown dyed hair and pink sweater drenched from the pinching cold rain from an unforgiving storm. Though at that very moment he’d notice there was something about the way this man’s eyes had lit up with amusement- those green , circular pools of pure beauty. But he had brushed it off. Pretended as if it was nothing , and __god__ was it far from nothing.

The shop was supposed to close , Waylon was warily aware of such a fact. The sign outside had indicated that it was close , but the door was unlocked so he could not help himself. Yet this man let him walk in anyway , didn’t ask him to leave. A cordial man he was , he thinks , at least merciful enough to let him explain. But he doesn’t let him explain. Doesn’t need to tell him that he’s been to a rough , distressing day that he’s forgotten to bring an umbrella and he’s got no money to stay in hotels. He tells him that it’s okay. Tells him that he can stay.

God. He didn’t love him.

That was a lie.

He was so , __undeniably__ fucking in love with him.

And he hated that it was. Hated that he’s got himself in between a stupid , cliche filled and fairytale-like ( or at least how others __deem__ it to be ) love story for those foolish saps who continue and hold on to absolutely __nothing.__ But he hated how this man right here had the nerve and __dared__ to let him walk into his life and foolishly let himself burn in the flames he’s unknowingly lit. He __hated__ it so , so much. Hated how he’s smiling so softly as he whispers to him __you’re welcome , darling__ before tucking him in his velvet red sheets that smelled of soft detergent. Hated how he complimented everything he hated about himself , from the freckles on his skin to the dimly colored eyes he owns. Hated how he loved the stupid snores that left his mouth whenever he falls asleep. Hated how he loves him so damn much. But he hated himself more for not seeing this too early , hated himself that he’s bound within the pages of a __love story__ that he’s unwillingly writing with him. Wanted to erase himself from the narrative but god he couldn’t.

Because god forbid this man who’s fallen for him was a hopeless romantic. 

That’s why he’ll rip off those pages. Rip off those false diary entries on how he talks about how much he hated the idea of romance. He didn’t want a single thought left of such a word in his mind. He’ll rip off the pages that state how much he hated his obnoxious laughter that his ex boyfriend always commented on about whenever they went to dates. Burn the paper where ink states that his ex girlfriend despised how clumsy he was , especially when he broke her favorite vase on the 18th of August. Tear off those memories that remind him of how forgetful he was that’s why he couldn’t even remember he and his ex boyfriend’s anniversary. Throw those pages up against the wall where it’s scripted that she left him because he couldn’t handle those stupid insecurities she’s supposed to deal with because she’s his __lover.__

Yet it’s funny how he doesn’t expect him to not avoid cliche.

And then one day alas , he invites him to Paris. The city of love. That’s when he finally knew.

And so he imagines how he’s going to make them dance underneath sycamores at six seventeen PM whilst singing stupid love songs from Disney movies , then laying beneath a blanket of stars that’s better than those planetariums he’s been in in those stupid little dates he’s had.

Imagines that they’ll fool thousands of passerbys by thinking that they’re in love when they’re not. Imagines how he’s going to want to intertwine their bodies and cuddle while commenting how beautiful the Eiffel Tower looks from where they were.

Imagines how they’re going to fall in love. Sweetly. Beautifully. In the city of love.

But it’s no longer him imagining when he thinks that they can’t fall in love. That he was another fool just like his old self for trusting fate , and fate was not kind : she never was.

So ,

He said no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok hehe bc of my obscure n pretentious writing and like lack of dialogue ( or more like NO dialogue AT ALL!!! ) im going 2 explain it bc (-:
> 
> basically it's just. a silly little story of two falling in love but in , like , different perspectives , but they didnt rlly end up tgt  
> so ed meets way in his tailor shop bc it's raining outside n way has NO place 2 stay in so he asks ed if he can n ed says yes. eddie , being the romantic he is , takes this as a love at first sight.
> 
> theyve had some interactions after that and eddie falls in love with him more. waylon doesnt realize this tho but when he does he gets angry w/ him self in a way bc he's made someone fall in love w/ him? ? and he rlly doesnt want 2 deal w/ that. what more is way starts to fall 4 ed himself. and he wants to avoid love bc of his abusive relationships in the past ( which r rlly vague idk who the girl n the guy is. u decide! ) . though he feels like ed loves him for real , he's afraid that he's going to love him a lot and he's just going 2 leave him again just like his two other exes smth like that
> 
> so like. ed invites him to paris n thinks that theyll fall in love even more there so he's all hyped n shit  
> and way thinks the same too and is scared but doesnt want 2 bring his hopes up. so he says no , hurting both of themsleves
> 
> somehow even w/ that it's still so vague  
> it's supposed 2 be B))
> 
> ok w/e BYE i hope u liked it nonetheless lol :*


End file.
